Late Night in the Library
by lifeofsnark
Summary: Reader is working on a paper in the university library. Sam breaks in. They chat, and sex ensues. (Sub/dom overtones, very light.)


Another 3am had come and gone, and you were still sitting in the Ancient Collections room of the University library. You'd gone through all the early stages of procrastination: false confidence, utter panic, complete despair, and had finally arrived at acceptance- you would either finish this chapter of your thesis or you wouldn't. Whichever way it went, the world wouldn't end.

You pushed your laptop back a few inches, far enough for you to rest your forehead on the cool, smooth surface of the table. Breathing slowly and deeply, you tried to muster the strength and motivation to continue on with this series of edits, ruing the day you had decided- enthusiastic and bright eyed- to add a chapter on how Roman infrastructure later influenced the development of other European cultures. You kept your head down, listening to the occasional car rumble past on the road, the hum and rattle of the ancient and inefficient air conditioner, and… someone picking the lock?

You sat up and held your breath, waiting to see if you'd hear it again- that was it, the slow rattle of the doorknob jiggling back and forth; the scrape of picks inside the metal mechanism.

Your brain blanked- just absolutely emptied for the first time in your adult life. Any graduate student was given 24-hour access to this section of the library, it was part of the gig. Whoever was coming in here couldn't be a student, an undergrad would just wait until the library opened in the morning. In a moment of clarity you dialed the emergency line on your phone, but didn't hit send.

You'd been working in your favorite corner of the room, a medium sized desk tucked between the shelves, hidden from immediate view. The little desk lamp made it cozy, and the privacy helped to minimize distractions- you swore your brain would find any and every excuse to get out of paper writing. Peeking around the shelf, you saw the door slowly open.

A very male figure slipped in, his silhouette clear against the brighter lights of the library beyond. He turned to ease the door shut, and as your eyes readjusted you saw that he was huge- well over six feet- with shaggy hair and a lean build.

He paused, pulling a small piece of paper out of his back pocket- your eyes followed the movement and _damn what an ass-_ and then he started skimming the shelves, clearly in search of something. You stayed hidden in your corner, just watching, trying to decide whether or not you should say something.

Uh-oh. He was finished looking through the other side of the small room and was headed your way. In a rush you ran on your toes- you'd kicked your flats off hours ago- back to your desk and threw yourself into the chair.

The man rounded the corner. "Hey," he said, surprise clear in his voice. He didn't have much of an accent, you couldn't place him from anywhere specific.

You tried to look just as surprised at seeing someone else at- oh, yes, 3:26am. You hoped you succeeded. The last time you tried to be fake-shocked, your now-ex-boyfriend said you looked ill. "Hey-you, uh, looking for a book?"

Mentally you smacked yourself on the forehead. Why would he break into a library if he _wasn't looking for a book?_ Honestly, at your first good look at his face your brain had just shut off like an overheated computer. His features were perfectly symmetrical; he had a strong jaw, shaggy brownish hair, and beautiful eyes of a color you couldn't quite make out.

"Yeah, actually, maybe you could help?" In two long strides he was standing behind your chair, his long, lightly tanned arm curving around your shoulder to show you a sticky note with a call number scribbled on it.

"Uh, that should be over here," you said eloquently, once more thrown by this gorgeous creature's close proximity. You led the way to a sagging old shelf in the back of the room, and skimmed until you found the number in question. It was a book on Zoroastrian gods and myths. Raising an eyebrow, you passed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, taking the thick text which was dwarfed by his large hands. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you replied, thankful that long-ingrained manners weren't failing you now.

He gestured to your setup in the little desk nook. "Studying?" he asked, curious.

"Kind of. The edits on part of my thesis are due tomorrow," you replied, scrubbing both palms down over your face. You were suddenly aware of how long you'd been wearing these clothes and how little sleep you'd been getting. You felt tired and frumpy in front of this god-among-men.

"Thesis huh? That's awesome," he said, sounding genuinely interested. He walked to the desk and began looking at the titles of the books you were using. "These seem more interesting than some of the things I had to read," he said, smiling at you. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and you were given a flash of deep dimples beneath his sharp cheekbones.

You stepped beside him and rested your butt on the edge of the table. He seemed to be settling in for a conversation. _It's past three,_ you thought. _Maybe he's lonely too._ "What did you study?"

"Law," he grinned ruefully. "Some of those textbooks got pretty dry. Anyway, that was a long time ago. Wasn't able to go on." The grin vanished as quickly as it came, and you decided not to pursue the subject. You knew how lucky you were to make a living studying what you loved.

You nodded at the book resting in his lap. "What's that for, then?"

"Oh, my brother and I travel around, we're consulting with the local police on a case." The answer rolled easily off his tongue without any hint of smugness or boasting. Many other men would have worked a pickup line or a story of past glory in there, but not Sam.

Almost an hour later you were still perched on the edge of the table, your legs swinging in the air, as you and Sam laughed over the story of his college girlfriend accidentally pepper spraying him.

"So what about now?" he asked you. "Have a boyfriend waiting at home?"

"Nope," you replied, your heart starting to beat uncomfortably fast. _Was this happening? Was he really flirting with you?_ "You?"

"Not anymore," he said, and the grin was back, though now there was a definite hint of a leer in there. He stepped forward and wedged himself in between your knees, the hem of your A-line skirt hiking up to accommodate the spread. Cupping both hands on your jaw he cradled your face and _kissed you;_ he kissed you with his whole body, channeling the force through his shoulders. His lips, lightly chapped, rubbed once, twice against yours before he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth. You gasped into his mouth a little, breathing in his air, rocked by how suddenly you went from easy conversation to, to this, whatever _this_ was.

His calloused palms slid up the outside of your thighs, rucking your skirt up along with it. He scooped you up, one shovel-sized hand supporting your ass while the other unzipped your skirt and shucked it off, along with your underwear, in one fell swoop. He sat you back down on the edge of the table, the surface cold against your aching pussy, as you began frantically fumbling with his belt. He pinched a nipple through your shirt and bra- tightly, hovering right on the border of pleasurepain- which hindered your efforts to free his cock from his jeans.

Finally you pulled down his pants and briefs enough to free his dick- hard and red, the tip already beading precum. You licked a stripe down your palm and began rubbing up and down, pausing only when Sam roughly yanked your shirt up over your head.

Placing one palm flat over your sternum, Sam unceremoniously pushed you until your back was flat on the table. He leaned over you, even while his feet were flat on the floor, his head was higher than yours, his shoulders broader. You were well and truly pinned, and arousal pooled in your belly at that thought.

He tugged one of your arms, then the other, up over your head, all the while sucking little love bites on the sensitive skin behind your ear and down over your collar bone. He put each of your hands on the opposite side of the desk and pulled back, his face hovering over yours, noses almost touching. "Hang on," he growled, voice thick and deep with lust, "and don't let go."

You nodded enthusiastically, not trusting your voice, and then _oh,_ his mouth was closing over your nipple and tugging, _hot wet good,_ sending electric sparks through your belly into your wet cunt below. His left hand was slowly tugging at his cock, twisting over the thick tip, while his right hand toyed with your pussy- first two fingers inside, slowly massaging the top wall while the heel of his hand rocked against your clit. You panted, chest heaving.

"You're so wet for me, girl," he murmured, pulling his hand out of your body to smear your slick over his veiny shaft. He dipped in again, wetting his dick, making it easier for his broad palm to jack up and down. "You been sitting here the whole time imagining this? Imagining me splaying you out on the table, pounding into you?"

"Oh god, _god,_ Sam please," you begged, sweat breaking out along your forehead. You had long ago forgotten to worry over whether or not you'd shaved that morning.

"Please what? What do you want from me, little girl?" His index finger was just barely, ever so slightly, trailing over the skin where your hip and groin met, eliciting goosebumps and shivers.

"Fuck me Sam, _please_ Sam," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut in aroused impatience.

You heard him pump himself once, twice, and then the thick head of his cock was lined up, bumping against your hungry pussy and you needed _more more more_ and then he was _there,_ thrusting up inside, his hips spreading yours obscenely wide.

Still moving inside you, he stood up, pulling your ass closer to the edge of the table, making your arms burn as you followed his instructions and refused to let go of the desk. He grabbed one calf and tugged your foot to his shoulder, then followed with the other. You were spread eagle, open to his eyes and mouth and hands, and the vulnerability turned you on even more.

"Good girl," he hissed, and continued pumping between your legs. You rolled your head back on the table, a litany of broken please and moans and _Sam, please , yes yes, Oh god! Oh, Sam!_ falling from your lips, supplication of the basest kind. Sam was everywhere- his smell of coffee and clean sweat and musk was in the air you were breathing, the taste of him lingered on your lips, the sound of cock and cunt meeting, slapping together filled the small space, and everything was heat and pleasure and lust and _Sam._

He nudged your legs off and you clasped them around his waist; you could feel his obliques and abdominals rippling. He bend forward, bracing himself on his elbows, boxing you into a little space in the world that began and ended with Sam.

The change in angle pushed him more deeply into you, allowing his pubic bone to rub against your hard and desperate clit, giving you the friction you so desperately needed. He was freely groaning now too, deep rumbles of sound traveling from the bottom of his throat, his breath coming in hard puffs against your neck.

 _Sam, need it Sam, Sam pleeease_ you screeched, bucking against him hard enough to make his punishing rhythm stutter. He bit your nipple, tugging it between his teeth, while he slithered one broad hand between your bodies, found your clit, and rubbed.

Two breaths was all it took, two inhalations of suspended time, infused with pleasure, and you were coming apart beneath him, your back arching off the desk as you shook, a keening cry tearing from your throat, and bursts of color and pleasure sparking on the inside of your eyelids. He thrust three more times, hard enough to push the solid wood desk, and then he followed you over the edge, shuddering and moaning above you, inside you.

Eventually you opened your eyes and you just looked at each other, looking and panting and trying to recover your equilibrium. Sam was up first, tugging on his briefs before gingerly pulling your arms down by your sides. Scooping you up, he sat in your abandoned chair, your legs straddling his lap, your face pressed into the safe and musky shadow between his jaw and his neck.

He ran his hands over your back and shoulders, working out each of the knots caused by straining your arms backwards for so long before gently running his fingers down each limb.

You scooted to the side so you could lean against him, your legs flopped over the arm of the chair. The world slowly lightened outside the window, the sky turning the deep lavender-grey of impending dawn. Sam broke the silence. "I need to leave soon."

You nodded. You knew he traveled around from place to place with his brother, and besides, your new day would be starting as well. You still had a thesis to work on, papers to grade. Just because your whole world had slipped on its axis didn't mean anything really changed.

Sam cleared his throat. "You think I could call you sometime? Or swing by if I need help researching?" The corner of his mouth quirked up just slightly.

"Absolutely."

You dressed, tucking your shirt back into your wrinkled skirt, smoothing your hair back into a ponytail, Sam slipping back into his jeans. You kissed one last time and he was gone, broad shoulders slipping through the door, your phone number written beneath that call number and safe in his back pocket. You never managed to get any work done at that desk again.


End file.
